Friday, July 30, 2004

Notes on High Summer

Monarch butterflies return.
Time to register for the State Fair.
Apples on the trees start looking good.
The grass dries out and goes crunchy.
The hush of corn softens far hills.
The tingle and fear of imagining the first day of school.
Football camp starts.
Bean field rustles behind the house.
August comes.
Early annuals start to droop. Hot annuals and perennials thrive.
The raspberries glow like rubies under leaves.
Dog sleeps in the shade.
Chalk drawings on the sidewalk until the next thunderstorm.
Tell me a story in my hideout under the tall pine.
Let's play catch. Let's run through the sprinkler.
Let's have a cookout tonight. I bought corn on the way home.
A month gone from solstice, the sun is down before Maia.
The full moon glows so bright it almost hums in a cobalt sky.
Lie in bed and listen to the soft talk of the tall grass.
The rhubarb drowses off under the locusts. Six weeks until frost.


  1. Do you seriously have frost there in mid-September?

  2. Making me miss fall of the northern midwest... frost in September and October...

    -- sigh --

  3. Further north, for sure...but it's more a saying than anything. When I was growing up, my mom would always say "Six weeks to frost" whenever she heard a locust.

  4. We can get light (not killing) frosts in September. It's something my mom always says when she hears locusts -- six weeks to frost.

  5. my mom, who grew up on the range, says she's seen snow in every month but august. i believe her.

  6. I love the image of the moon humming. It's just perfect.